


A Very Groovy Family

by apeirophobia



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Charles has a type okay, Erik "oops I lied about trying to start a war" Lehnsherr, Gen, Jason is adorable, M/M, Trask's trial, a (mostly) everybody lives interpretation of events, everybody tries to get their lives back together post-dofp, single-dad!Stryker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apeirophobia/pseuds/apeirophobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles attends the trial of Bolivar Trask and meets a man whom he first glimpsed in the mind of a disagreeable CIA agent eleven years before. William Stryker strives to make amends for the destructive empire he unwittingly helped Trask build and meets the brother of the girl who kicked him in the face in front of the president. Their meeting puts them on a path of love and other domestic shenanigans, along which the Xavier estate finds itself filled with children, mutants, and family once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've seen you in a fight you lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the X-men First Kink Meme prompt: Charles Xavier/William Stryker, raising Jason together.

 

Trask is charged with kidnapping, murder, experimenting on mutants, experimenting on humans, and conspiracy to commit treason.

 

Charles attends the trial, sitting in the back, where the cameras can’t see him. He projects a low-level pulse of psychic persuasion, nothing major, just enough that no one in the court room looks at him twice. He slips by unnoticed, enough so that no one recognizes him from the footage the entire world has seen of him and Hank leaving the stadium wreckage.

 

It’s there that he first sees William Stryker Jr. Or more accurately, it’s there that William Stryker first sees _him_. Looks right at him and pauses, curious, during the third question of his cross-examination. Charles meets his gaze for a moment before blanching, caught. It’s not like Stryker can do anything about it, lest he wants to derail the interview by drawing attention to Charles’ presence, and it’s not like Charles isn't allowed to be there, he is an American citizen after-all, but being recognized as the brother of the girl who tried to kill your boss and accidentally saved the world, especially by the last guy she knocked out and impersonated, isn't what Charles would call ‘keeping a low-profile’.

 

(Charles met his first love six feet deep in the Atlanta Ocean. Charles meets his last love at a federal trial. He’s not sure if that means he’s terrible at these sorts of things or just really _really_ good.)

 

The defense release Stryker from questioning when he refuses to budge on his unflattering (but truthful) depiction of Trask’s final days in office. He passes by Charles’ pew on his way out of the courtroom, giving him a look that Charles imagines amounts to _‘what the hell are you doing here, aren’t you that super-spy mutant’s brother?’_ so Charles just shrugs and gives him one that he hopes conveys _‘my sister is now a national hero and thus I don’t know what I’m doing with my life since I can no longer use her as an emotional life-vest’_. He’s not sure how successful he is in getting that across, but he feels echoes of bemusement from Stryker as the younger man leaves the courtroom.

 

(Two days later, when Charles has thrown caution entirely to the wind because he just played a major role in averting an incomprehensible horror of a future, and if that isn't incentive to live a little, what is? he in finds himself sitting across from William Stryker in a coffee shop in downtown D.C. chatting about anything but the trial. Out of uniform Stryker looks every one of his ten years Charles’ junior. Charles sips green tea and tries not to think about how Sean would be older than Stryker if he were alive today.)

 

It’s nice, despite all that he has lost and all that he has failed to do, to sit and chat with someone who knows who and what he is, yet has no outlandish expectations of him. To not be coddled like a child, nor demanded of like a god. William Stryker isn't asking for absolution, and he’s not asking for Charles to read his mind. He’s not asking him _not_ to either, but that’s a freedom and a trust that Charles hasn't allowed himself in eleven years. It’s still nice in a way that addictive serums and live metal and empty classrooms isn't. It’s nice in the way it’s nothing like the summer of 1962.

 

Stryker testifies about locked doors and late hours that Bolivar kept. About people that Trask said left the program voluntarily, only for William to later find their personal belongings in the trash or their file missing. He testifies that Trask recruited him in the fall of 1971 but it wasn't until nearly two years later, and ten days before Mystique’s first assassination attempt, that he realized Trask had lied about collateral damage. By the time Trask’s word came into question Stryker found himself torn between morality and insubordination. He says he agreed to be part of the Sentinel Program because he was recovering from being WIA and Trask was offering him a chance to protect his country while state-side. He doesn't say that he primarily took the job so his son could stay in the same elementary school for more than a year. Doesn't say that two years ago he couldn't stomach the thought of going back to Vietnam. Trask industries, with its order, with its quiet offices and its long hallways, seemed like a godsend at the time. Stryker meets Charles' gaze and Charles hears what the jury can not.

 

Later, on the balcony of his hotel, Charles says, “You were an unknowing participant," and William says, “I was a fool. A fool who aided a murderer.”

 

Charles knows there is no use in arguing, hears Hank saying  _it wasn't your fault_ a thousand times and still doesn't believe it. But he also knows that no one benefits when the people with morals weigh themselves down with others' rightful guilt whilst those who caused the harm gallivant into the sunset feeling light as a feather. And he might only be projecting a _little_ on that last part, so he says, "My best friend was involved in the attempted assassination of two different presidents," and says it like,  _so don't feel too guilty, it happens to the best of us_.

 

Stryker gives him a look like he doesn't know whether to laugh or frown; presidential assassinations are no laughing matter after-all, but Charles' life certainly is, so Charles says, "Two. Different.  _Presidents_." as gravely as he can manage and Stryker cracks up.

 

"Really?" Stryker says with a laugh, and smiles brilliantly at Charles, "He was still your best friend after the first one?"

 

"In a manner of speaking," Charles muses,  "I mean, I still considered him my friend after the whole (and here he gestures to the wheelchair he's sitting in) _incident_ ," he laughs ruefully, "I guess I'm a pretty forgiving guy."

 

"Oh," William says, sobering at the implication,"I'm sorry"

 

"Don't," Charles says, waving off his apologies, "I got shot preventing World War III. I don't think there's many people who can say  _that_."

 

Stryker nods like  _good point_ and gestures to his left side and says, "I got shot trying to stop a Communist Op from burning a village,"

 

Charles glances fire and  _fear_ and too much blood. He hears someone saying Stryker's name frantically, convinced he wasn't going to make it. Charles tries not to show his wince and says, "That must have been very frightening."

 

Stryker shrugs, but doesn't disagree, and Charles notices that he only moves his left shoulder when he has to, "I wasn't afraid of dying, I was just afraid of leaving my son an orphan."

 

Charles nods like he understands, but he doesn't. He's never had to fear leaving others, it was always them leaving him first. Raven left him because he clung to her too tightly, and Erik left him because he wouldn't embrace his  _ideals_ tightly enough. After Cuba, after the school and the Draft, Charles felt like he couldn't win. He felt like everything he did with the best intentions left him more alone than he was before. But now Erik and Raven have gone on their own paths, and Charles isn't afraid anymore. He thinks that maybe it isn't about winning, maybe it's about moving forward. And he gets the feeling that William Stryker wants to move forward as well.

 

(The first day Charles seeks William Stryker out he doesn't know what he’s looking for, what he’s expecting to find. Actually, that’s a lie, he always knows what he’s looking for (what he’s _hoping_ for). He’s always looking for a friend, an ally, someone to help weather the storm of public opinion against those who are different. Charles is always looking for a kindred spirit; someone who’s seen something of the world’s state and found it wanting, someone to whom he can extend the proverbial olive branch.

 

And if the person on the other end of that olive branch happens to be tall, thin, dark-haired, and recently involved in controversial activities, well, Charles never said he didn't have a type.)

 

When the trial is over and Charles and Stryker part ways, he for Westchester and Stryker for Costa Rica, Charles hands him the worn card he’s kept in his wallet since the day his last student left for Vietnam. He tells Stryker that if he’s ever in need of assistance or just a friend, he knows where to find him. When he and Jason return from Costa Rica, Stryker does.

 


	2. Hold your breath and count to ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the X-men First Kink Meme prompt: Charles Xavier/William Stryker, raising Jason together.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments make my day :)

 

Costa Rica is beautiful with its blue waters and its bright sun and its, quite frankly _excess_ , amount of vegetation. But what matters most to William is that it’s _not_ America or France or Vietnam, and he’s glad to be away from the East Coast, if only for a little while. He’s had enough of men in suits and glass bullets and politically charged boardrooms. He’s had enough of the whispers that follow him after the trial.

 

When he agreed to testify against his former boss his military career ended, a fact that William’s pretty sure his dad will never get over. To an ordinary person having a son that made Major by twenty-five would be something to be proud of regardless, but not William Stryker Sr., and William knows he’s going to be getting a frown of disapproval over Thanksgiving dinner for the next twenty years, or however long his dad sticks around. Better yet, he’s pretty sure his dad will be giving him disapproving looks from beyond the grave, there’s really no escaping him. His dad loves him, Stryker _knows_ this, but Stryker Sr. is, unfortunately, the furthest thing from “open-minded” there is. And between becoming a single father as a teenager, going into the Army instead of the CIA, and “refusing” to find a nice girl and settle down, well, William is afraid that his latest foray into controversy might be asking one thing too many of his father’s patience.

 

He’s done with the army and he’s done with the government. And it’s convenient, because they’re all too clearly done with him too. His division gave him an honorable discharge with the unspoken condition that he never step foot on a military base again. He’s pretty sure that _Jason_ will never be allowed to enlist either, that’s how far the blacklisting extends. But he’ll receive his pension for the rest of his life and his son will receive the benefits of his service, so Stryker considers nothing he’s done to be in vain. And the government can’t throw him under the bus or make him disappear, _luckily_ , since being gravely wounded in defense of your country _and_ being the son of the former head of the CIA makes him something like untouchable. It might seem that William lives an unnecessarily dangerous life, but it’s actually quite the opposite. He always hedges his bets (agreeing to testify against Trask in exchange for assured immunity, even when he hadn't technically broken any laws, and cutting his ties with the military when he knows his service record and his family name will protect him) and he _never_ takes unnecessary risks. “Unnecessary” implies that someone has either not thought their plan of attack through, or they don’t have their priorities figured out. If something needs to be done (his country needs to be protected, his son needs to be provided for, a wrong needs to be corrected) he could never consider the consequences of said actions to be _unnecessary_.

 

Even the trip to Costa Rica is strategic, in its own way. Almost being murdered three times in the past month by two different mutants is enough to make anyone need a break, and Stryker’s pretty sure that’s a sign from the universe, even if he’s not quite sure what it’s saying. Magneto tried to kill him but Mystique _saved his life_ and it’s almost too much to wrap his head around. In Vietnam Mystique was all too glad to strangle him to death, and then two weeks later she was willing to martyr herself for him and everyone else in that bunker. He knows that her turn of heart has more to do with Magneto and whatever disgruntled family dynamics played out on the White House lawn than it does with the particular humans involved, but the sentiment still stands: William Stryker is alive because a mutant terrorist offered herself up to another mutant terrorist.

 

Further complicating matters is Charles Xavier, a clearly decent man _and_ a mutant. William Stryker has always _known_ mutants of high character existed, in theory, but before meeting the Professor he had never had much personal interaction with them. And the Professor, well, he’s more than _decent_ , in Stryker’s personal opinion. He’s greatly intelligent, not terribly unattractive, and charmingly course despite his clearly upper-class upbringing. He’s…raw in a way that Stryker can appreciate. William and Charles might only have spent the better part of a month together, but they connected in the way that only two men who've both survived wars can.

 

Charles Xavier is a good man. Charles Xavier is a mutant. These facts are non-negotiable. Also immutable is the fact that William Stryker has something like a schoolboy crush on him.

 

(There are a great many things that Stryker doesn't tell his father, precisely because he loves him.)

 

* * *

 

“How much do you love me, Daddy?” Jason asks as he, mercifully, sits still long enough for Stryker put sunscreen on him. He’s actually behaving exceptionally well considering that there’s a tide-pool full of baby sharks at the edge of the shore just asking to be investigated.

 

“More than the world,” Stryker says, covering the backs of Jason’s ears and the tip of his nose in sunscreen. It’s clearly the right answer because Jason nods his head in agreeance, his eyes still closed.

 

His mother and father tell him that he coddles Jason, that he tells him he loves him too often. To which he can only think, _what the fuck_? He doesn't tell them that maybe not telling your kid that you love them often enough leads to them becoming teenage parents, or getting involved in risky careers and accidentally working with super-villains. Every parent makes mistakes, but his will not be not loving his son enough, or taking him for granted. To each their own, he supposes.

 

The family a little ways down the beach gives him and Jason a curious look, bordering on judgmental. Stryker wonders if they’re wondering where Jason’s mom has gone, or whether they’re just gawking at the scar tissue that makes up the left side of his upper torso. The staring doesn't bother him, and Jason takes no notice of it, but it is the first time he’s been in a semi-public place without his shirt on, since the last of the bandages came off, and he wonders how macabre it truly looks. Stryker pulls his beach shirt back on and notices that the couple averts their gaze self-consciously. _Well_ , Stryker thinks, _that certainly answer that question._

 

* * *

 

“What are those sharks up to, Jace?” Stryker asks, peering over the little pool that has held his son’s attention ever since the tide went out, ever since he and Jason got to the beach, really.

 

“Trying to eat the little fish that are stuck in their tide-pools,” Jason says excitedly. He’s rubbed in his sunscreen to the point that it resembles war-paint. Actually, William’s not convinced he didn't do it on purpose.

 

“Oh yeah?” William says, kneeling next to the pool so he can see the creatures better.

 

“Yeah, accept for the one that doesn't have any teeth, but that one just kind of nuzzles at my hands and doesn't try to go after the fish.”

 

Stryker tries not to sigh over-dramatically because _of course_ his son would try to pet a shark. Sometimes he wonders if Jason was designed specifically to give him a heart attack before he reaches age thirty.

 

“It’s a Nurse Shark, right?” Stryker asks, just to be certain.

 

“Of course Daddy,” Jason says, and William can hear the unspoken “duh” in the tone of his voice.

 

“I’m just asking,” Stryker assuages, running his hand through Jason’s hair playfully. He is not a worrier by nature but when it comes to Jason, well, he tends to air more on the side of caution.

 

“They’re not gonna bite me, they’re just babies,” Jason says reassuringly and Stryker laughs. Jason has always had a slightly Disney-princessesque approach to life. His attitude toward baby sharks is the same one that has had Stryker catching spiders, and other creepy crawlies, and putting them outside for the past eight years, instead of killing them. William doesn't mind his son's pacifist approach, indulges it even, but he is amused that it extends even to the more frightening of creatures.

 

“Come and see,” Jason says, stepping into the shallow end of the pool, “One of them looks just like grampa.”

 

For the record, the nurse shark does look extraordinarily like his father.

 

* * *

 

Later, when and the baby sharks have finally escaped the tide-pool, and the constant curiosity of both Stryker boys, William and Jason lay on their beds in the villa, listening to the soft pattering of rain on the windows.

 

Nobody calls it “nap-time” anymore, because Jason is a week away from being ten and thus a “big kid”, but somehow Jason always seems to wind down with a blanket (and Ramstein the teddy bear) in the early afternoon.

 

Stryker is lying on his back, half-asleep himself, when the strangeness of the current weather occurs to him. All morning and mid-day the sun was brightly shining, and when they walked back to the villa there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Yet now that they are inside it has begun to rain. He thinks, _why is it raining all of a sudden_?

 

“Because you like rain, Daddy,” Jason says sleepily, curled up in his favorite blanket.

 

"What is that Jason?" William asks, turning towards his son.

 

"I made it rain for you," Jason says before he falling asleep.

 

Stryker drifts off to the soothing sound of rain on the villa's roof, wondering idly what Jason could have meant.

 


	3. Once I was harder to bruise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the X-men First Kink Meme prompt: Charles Xavier/William Stryker, raising Jason together.
> 
> [xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/11912.html?thread=22830984#t22830984]
> 
> Thank you for leaving kudos and comments, they make my day! <3

 

Stryker wakes up at half past four. Jason is in the living room, lying on the couch and reading a comic book. It’s still raining. Jason and his’ previous exchange comes back to him when he’s putting on his shoes. “So, you’re…making it rain?” Stryker asks before he’s fully awoken.

 

“Yeah,” Jason says, sitting up and nodding his head, proud, “It’s just a thing I do, sometimes, it’s not real, it’s just a picture, but it feels like it’s real so I like it.”

 

“How long have you been doing this, kiddo?” William says, leaning over the back of the couch and ruffling Jason’s blond hair. He’s proud of how his voice doesn't shake.

 

“Oh, a while I think,” Jason says, looking thoughtful, “since May at least. I meant to tell you, but after school was over you had to go away for the trial, and Grandma told me not to bother you with “non-essentials” when you called to say goodnight,”

 

William almost laughs; Jason considers anything farther back than a week to be “in the past”, considers however long his Dad is gone to be “a long while”. As much as it terrifies William that his son appears to be displaying mutant powers, a month after mutants became public knowledge no less, he’s relieved to discover that he hasn't been terribly unobservant. May was six weeks ago, and William was away two of those weeks for work, so he can be forgiven not noticing that it rained a little more than ordinary when he was home. He is a little annoyed at his mom’s attempt to censor Jason’s phone calls though.

 

“Can you give me a head’s up when you’re changing something? So I can know what’s real?” Stryker asks, and Jason nods his head enthusiastically. He closes his eyes for a moment and sunlight streams through the slats of the villa’s windows, the soft pattering of rain instantly gone and replaced by the glow of the afternoon sun.

 

“Wow,” says Stryker, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness of the living room, “that’s impressive.”

 

Jason hums in agreement and looks around, "Back to normal," he says with a grin.

 

 _Normal_ , Stryker thinks, is not something they've ever had much of a monopoly on, but's never felt farther away than in this moment. So he does what he always does: he sucks it up and doesn't give himself time to panic.

 

“Enough of this lying about," William says,  "what do you say we go out and get some ice cream before dinner?”

 

Jason grin widens with a cry of “Yeah!” but he takes the time to mark his place in his book before hopping off the couch excitedly.

 

 _You're a peculiar kid,_ William thinks as Jason hugs him around the middle. _But,_   _mutant or not, there's no other I'd rather have._

 

* * *

 

That night after Jason goes to bed, passed out from too much fun with one arm thrown over his head, the other wrapped around Ramstein, and tucked under a quilt that he’ll kick onto the floor before Stryker is finished getting ready for bed, William locks himself in the bathroom and forgets how to breathe.

 

They were getting better, the panic attacks, before Mystique’s attack in Vietnam. January had marked eighteen months since he’d been anywhere near the front-lines, and as his chest knitted itself back together so did his psyche. But then he couldn't reach his gun and all he could think was _I’m going to be murdered by a mutant in the worst place on Earth_ and the sense of helplessness returned. The sense of hopelessness returned. And it seemed so unfair because he had never even _met_ Mystique and she _wanted_ to kill him, he could _see_ it in her eyes. His chest feels too tight, like the collar of his shirt is choking him, but even when he takes it off he still can’t take full breaths. He knows it’s psychological, but that doesn't mean he can make it go away. He sinks down on shaky knees and leans his head forward until it touches the cool tile floor. He holds that position with his eyes closed, and counts breaths like his rehabilitation counselor taught him to, but his lungs are still tight and his heart still stutters. It’s times like these, when Jason is in bed and the night is quiet, when everything catches up with him. There is so much danger in the world, so much tension and anxiety, and so much expectation to _perform_ , that it sometimes suffocates him. He has no choice but to _function_ and to be reliable and he goes and goes until he _can’t_ anymore and then his head spins and his teeth chatter and his body shuts down in this betrayal of self because it knows no other way.

 

His lungs finally expand and he exhales a sob. He’s not crying because his son is a mutant. He’s crying because the world is changing and he’s terrified that he might not be able to keep up. His mind flitters through terrible scenario after terrible scenario; a world where Jason isn't accepted or allowed any opportunity he deserves, a world where mutants like Magneto are the _norm_. He tries to reign in his rampant imagination, reassure himself that _both_ extremes were narrowly avoided when Trask’s demonstration went awry. But that just reminds him of the danger that his son was in without him even knowing. All those times that he brought Jason to work with him on school holidays or sick days, he had left him in his office with a book or toy, and Dr. Trask had been working on his ‘mutant detectors’ just down the hall. What if they had gone off? He doesn't dare imagine what would have happened. Not now that he’s seen Trask’s secret files, the ones he’d hidden from everyone in the company. Trask hurt _children_. He wouldn't care if it was Stryker’s child.

 

He’s crying because he likes being in control, he needs to know that he can keep his son safe from the world, and this suddenly jeopardizes his sense of security by introducing all these new factors that he can’t contend with. How is he supposed to help his son if he doesn't know where to start? He gave Jason this ability, but he doesn't have it. He is crying because he is utterly overwhelmed. He is crying because he is scared.

 

* * *

  

“Hello?”

 

Charles answers on the third ring and William lets out a breath he feels as if he's been holding since Jason told him he has superpowers. 

 

“Hello Charles,” William says, leaning the against the wall and starting to relax. He no longer feels like he's going to throw up, but his heart is still beating too fast.

 

“William!" Charles says brightly, far too brightly for 6 a.m. or however early it must be in the states, "This is William, isn't it? Hopefully it is, otherwise I’m afraid I've probably given someone a complex for not being…you,”

 

Stryker laughs despite himself, “Yes, it is me, you were expecting my call?”

 

“Well, I am psychic, you know,” Charles says coyly, before, “How’s Costa Rica coming along?”

 

Stryker laughs again, “I thought you said you were psychic?"

 

“Now, now, my innovative genetic code does not keep me from making conversation,” he says charmingly, and William thinks, _wait_ , _is he flirting with me?_ It certainly crossed his mind, once or twice, when they were sharing dinner after a day in court, or having chats about science in the elder's hotel room, but he chalked it up to finding a kindred spirit and Charles' naturally alluring personality. Now he's not so sure.

 

“Costa Rica is...nice. Very green, lots of lizards. The sun is lovely, but…”

 

"But...?" Charles leads.

 

“You sound far more chipper than when I last spoke to you,” Stryker says; Charles' undeniably blithe mood distracting him for the moment.

 

“Ah, yes! The most amazing thing happened this morning, it seems to have put me in a fair mood,”

 

“Oh, what’s that?” William asks, curious.

 

“Well, you remember me telling you about one of my students that I lost, a little over a decade ago?”

 

“Armando, was it?" William says, recalling the name and the story that went with, "You said he died protecting your other students, and your sister? He was killed by Shaw.”

 

He remembers when Sebastian Shaw attacked one of the CIA's compounds in 1962. Remembers his dad coming home from work looking absolutely devastated and telling him about the many friends and co-workers of his that Sebastian Shaw murdered. Stryker had been just a kid at the time and he had had trouble comprehending just  _how many people_ Azazel had killed. Apparently the death-toll had been over a hundred, just counting human agents. His dad had brushed over the fact that mutants only a little older than his son had been caught in the crossfire.

 

“Yes! That’s the one!" Charles says excitedly, "Well, I had, of course, _thought_ he had been killed by Shaw, we all did. But this morning he showed up on my front porch." 

 

"What," William says flatly. He's not sure what direction he was expecting Charles' sentence to take, but it was any way but the one it did.

 

"I was surprised, to say the least, but apparently we were all mistaken in assuming he was dead. There was no body, so you know how it is..."

 

Stryker does know how it is; in the army people were sometimes reported dead by error or considered dead when they went missing, but those types of situations were usually corrected in a matter of days or weeks. He's never heard of someone being mistaken for dead for eleven years. If there was no body to identify then the person would be considered MIA, and if the reason there was no body was because someone _blew it up_ then death would be a logical assumption. Stryker says as much.

 

“Well, it seems like he was more scattered than destroyed, and it just took him some time to collect himself again. Literally.” Charles says, as way of explanation.

 

It sounds no more ridiculous to Stryker than half the things he’s seen since he began coming face-to-face with mutants.

 

“I've been filling him in on some things, but it’s kind of nice not to be the only person behind the times.” Charles muses, more to himself than William, "Apparently he spent a few years as a sentient cloud over Canada, completely missed The Beatles..."

 

"But that is neither here nor there," Charles says, interrupting himself, "and I'm sure we can discuss absolutely crucial bands of the 60's at another time, what was of such importance that you needed to talk in the middle of the night?"

 

"Excuse me?" Stryker asks, thrown again by Charles' change of subject mid-sentence.

 

"As much as I love talking with you William," Charles' says, no hint of sarcasm in his voice, "It is rather early, and thus rather _late_ where you are, which means you're having some kind of emergency in the middle of the night that led you to call me."

 

"Oh," Stryker sighs, "Guess you really are psychic, aren't you?" he jokes, even though he knows Charles can't read his mind right now, not like this.  

 

"Are you alright?" Charles asks, concerned, "Are you and Jason safe?"

 

"Um, yes, we're fine." Stryker reassures him, "It's just that Jason seems to be..."

 

“Jason seems to be displaying mutant talent?” Charles finishes for him.

 

“Um, talent. _Yes_.” Stryker answers, and, "What hell, Charles? Is that a side-affect of reading minds? Do you, like, predict who's going to  _have_ mutant powers?"

 

"No, I'm afraid not," Charles says with a light laugh, "I can only sense mutants the old-fashioned way, but I had my suspicions about your son." 

 

"But you've never even  _met_ my son," Stryker replies, perplexed.

 

"Yes, but I met  _you_ ," Charles says, and Stryker pauses. He thinks the phone would have slipped from his hand had he not already been settled on the floor, "What do you mean by that?"

 

"You're...not a usual case, Will. I used a mind-trick of sorts, in the courtroom, and you're the only person that didn't fall for it,"

 

"And what does that mean, for me? For Jason?" William asks, trying to understand what Charles is telling him.

 

"It means, well, I thought it meant that you had been around a telepath before, around often enough that you become something like immune to their persuasion." Charles pauses, "And then you told me about your son, about how bright and clever he was, and I...highly suspected."

 

Stryker closes his eyes and tries to take it all in. It's a lot to process, but Charles' words are soothing the shock of it all. And if Jason is a telepath, and Charles is a telepath, that means Charles can help him, and that makes Stryker more relieved than anything.

 

He means to thank the Professor for his help, but "I'm so exhausted," comes out instead, and he chuckles tiredly, his nerves still shaky from the panic attack earlier.

 

"Get some sleep William, you've had an eventful day," Charles says kindly, and Stryker nods, even though Charles can't see him.

 

"I'll do that," he says, "Thank you, Professor,"

 

Charles huffs something about how _being called Professor makes him feel old_ , and then bids good-night with a "I'll be seeing you soon."

 

The sun is just beginning to rise when Stryker hangs up the phone. He walks by Jason's bed on his way to his own, picking up the quilt he's kicked off during the night and tucking it in again. He sits on the edge of the bed for a minute, just watching his son sleep like he did when Jason was a baby. He watches the rise and fall of Jason's small chest, love captivating his own, until their breathes match repetitions and relaxation creeps in. As the sun rises over Puerto Viejo, William curls up next to his son and, finally, sleeps.

 


	4. Was sorta hoping that you'd stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the X-men First Kink Meme prompt: Charles Xavier/William Stryker, raising Jason together.
> 
> Thank you for leaving kudos and comments, they make my day! <3

 

Alex has been back from Vietnam for nearly two months and back at the mansion for two weeks when he opens his bedroom door to see Darwin staring back at him, poised to knock. He stops, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times, and makes a face of total incredulity. He doesn't want to believe it, because believing it will mean hurting all over again. He doesn't dare to believe it, because he’s lived eleven years since that night in Virginia, lived tension and grief and joy and death (human and mutant alike), and believing it will be like reliving who he was, all those years ago. He was sixteen when Charles and Erik found him; too powerful and not wary _enough_. He was sixteen when Darwin died. Who he was isn't a person worth remembering, but Darwin isn't someone he could ever forget.

 

The man in question watches him patiently, looking almost apologetic, and Alex tries not to think about the way Darwin looked reaching out (always reaching out but _never touching_ ) for him before he crumbled to dust. And later he didn't know whether he hated Angel or Shaw more, hated them both so much, but now they're both dead and Darwin  _isn't_ and--

 

Alex steps back and slams the door. He can hear Darwin sigh, out in the hall, and he doesn't sound angry, or even annoyed. He simply sounds patient, ever patient, like he can wait for Alex to get his life together, like he can wait for Alex to stop freaking out over him _coming back from the fucking dead_. And well, Alex has been waiting for eleven years, so he's allowed to take a moment to. just. 

 

His bedroom door opens not ten seconds later.

 

“I don’t even wanna know, I just,” Alex says, throwing his arms around Darwin, “It’s too early in the morning for this, don't you know it's polite to wait 'til after 9 to come back from the dead?” The last part is muffled somewhat by Alex’s face being smushed into Darwin’s jacket, but eloquence isn't his biggest concern at this point.

 

“Sorry, I would have waited until breakfast, but I…wanted to see you.” Armando says, wrapping his arms around Alex, and he's solid and he's  _real_ and he sounds and smells like Armando is supposed to, and what the hell did Alex do to deserve a cosmic do-over of these proportions?

 

“This isn't some kind of joke, is it? The isn't the Professor messing with my brain, right?” Alex asks, but he keeps holding on. If this is some kind of hallucinatory projection, well, it's a nice one. 

 

Armando laughs, “Dude, I’m not an illusion or anything,” but he seems as reluctant as Alex to let go. Alex can't imagine what it must have been like, for him, to be gone for so long. At least he had the others, the Professor and Sean (and even Hank), whereas Darwin was on his  _own_. He went away from  _them_. It must have been incredibly lonely, but Alex can't really bare to ask.

 

“You’re back, you’re real, this is the best thing ever.” Alex says, and he grins bigger than he thinks he ever has.

 

"Come on," Armando says, leading Alex down the hall, "Charles promised me coming-back-from-the-dead pancakes,"

 

And if his arm never moves from around Alex's shoulder, well, _Alex_ certainly isn't going to say anything about it.

 

* * *

 

Charles was apparently not joking about the pancakes; stacks of chocolate-chip and blueberry pancakes line the long kitchen table, accompanied by jars of syrup and plates of bacon. Charles, who’s sitting at the head of the table and drinking his morning tea, raises an eyebrow pointedly at Alex’s hand on Darwin’s wrist when they walk in. 

 

“Shut it Xavier. I have over a decade of poorly expressed feelings to be making up for, so any pathetic touchy-feelyness on my part will not be commented on.” Alex warns, and Charles makes a face of indignant innocence and shrugs his shoulders like _I didn't say anything_.

 

“Hey, it’s fine by me,” Armando says, spearing a couple of pancakes, single-handedly, due to Alex still being attached to the other one.

 

“See? This is why he was always my favorite,” Alex sasses at Charles.

 

“We are more than thrilled to have you back Darwin,” Charles says seriously, as if his feelings-vicariously-expressed-via-food weren't obvious enough.

 

After everyone has put a decent dent in their breakfast foods, Armando asks, “So, I know it’s a loaded question, but what have you guys been up to since I saw you last?” Charles had filled him in the basics, history and deaths and politics that had happened while he’d been out-of-sorts, when he’d first arrived, but he was still behind on personal stuff and more recent events.

 

“Well,” Alex says, “we killed Shaw. Or, Erik killed Shaw, and then he went to prison for killing the President, like a year later.”

 

“Erik killed JFK?” Darwin asks, his face a mixture of horrified awe and morbid curiosity.

 

“No, no, Erik didn't kill Kennedy, he just went to prison for it,” Charles clarifies. “Erik has very bad PR skills,” he adds as way of explanation.

 

“Charles busted him out of prison a couple of weeks ago, and he’s been on the run ever since.” Alex finishes for him.

 

“Really?!” Darwin laughs.

 

“Hey! It isn't like that…” Charles protests.

 

“It’s a little like that,” Hank says, coming into the kitchen in search of coffee. He walks by the table and gives Armando what Alex refers to as a “Beast hug”. It’s a big deal to get a hug from Hank, being as he's not the biggest fan of affection, but when you can get them they're the best.

 

Hank leans against the counter, sipping his coffee and joining in the conversation, “We met another mutant, a speedster, it was pretty awesome, all things considered. We broke, like, fifty laws in multiple countries and nearly everyone sustained serious injuries, but nobody died. And, of course, Erik escaped, as usual. Flew away on live TV."

 

"Well that sounds very dramatic," says Darwin. Hank shrugs and nods in agreeance.

 

"Drama and Erik Lehnsherr seem to go together, I'm afraid," Charles says, picking up the morning paper and pretending to read, seemingly putting the subject behind him.

 

“Any other juicy gossip I should know?" Darwin asks playfully, "Raven tried to shoot a military scientist, Erik tried to assassinate several presidents, and Hank accidentally turned himself blue. Did anybody else do anything fun this summer?”

 

Alex laughs at the absurdity of it all, and the truthfulness. The truth is he was in Vietnam for four months, and stationed at his first base for three before that, and he is only slightly less out of the loop than Darwin. That is how quickly things can turnabout at the mansion. He looks from Hank to the Professor curiously, wondering if he missed any other major happenings, like he did with Hank growing a pair and attempting to drown Magneto in a fountain, or when the Professor started to walk again.

 

“Charles got himself a boyfriend,” Hank says, mumbling into his coffee.

 

“What?!” says Charles, twisting around in his wheelchair to stare accusingly at Hank, whom he believed to be his most loyal alumnus.

 

“Alright Professor,” Darwin says approvingly, and Alex snickers.

 

“Don't act so shocked Charles,” Hank says casually and Charles scoffs. He thinks it must be the lesser dose of serum he's been taking lately, it's making Hank more bold.

 

“What do you know about this?” Charles asks indignantly and then mentally smacks himself. _That_  wasn't the question he meant to ask, it was practically an admission. The truth is he  _doesn't_ have a boyfriend. He just has a nearly-inappropriate crush on a young man he met in the midst of a national crisis. _Not unlike the most auspicious beginnings of another accord_ , his traitorous brain oh-so-helpfully supplies. A young man with a young son to look after, as if the thought of William's responsibilities is supposed to deter Charles from his affections. It doesn't, if anything it makes Charles more fond, and he looks forward to meeting Jason in a couple of days. 

 

Alex leans forward, three bites of buttered pancake still stabbed precariously on his fork, and addresses Hank with a "Who?" then he looks at Charles who's pretending to read the paper, looking ever the odd mix of hippie and professor, with his long hair and his sweater-vest, and adds "When?"

 

"Where?" Darwin finishes with a grin on his face, and they both laugh.

 

Charles scrubs his hand over his face and mutters, "You've turned my hypothetical love-life into a bloody game of Cluedo," exasperatedly, but there's no heat in it. He's so glad to have Alex and Armando home, and he's so warmed at how happy having them home makes _Hank_ , that he doesn't mind that they're amusing themselves with gossip, even if it is at his expense.

 

"Hmm..." Hank says, pretending to think over Charles', frankly primary school, behavior the past two months, "Army Major, the past few weeks, I think he's in Costa Rica but I'm pretty sure they met in D.C.," he says, answering all the questions as he sits down at the table and pulls the remaining pancakes towards him.

 

Alex nods approvingly, like "not bad Charles", and then pauses, "Wait.  _The_ army major? As in, the one from the trial?" he asks and mimics punching someone with kinetic energy, "That one?" 

 

Hanks laughs and says "Yeah, the one that Raven saved you from, and then you in turn saved from Raven. Small world, huh?" and Charles thinks that Hank might be enjoying the absurdity of their lives a little too much.

 

At Darwin's questioning look Alex stage whispers, “Charles has got himself a _boy toy_ ,” and Hank giggles some more.

 

"You're all secretly still teenagers, aren't you?" Charles says, shaking his head. He sighs dramatically and starts to wheel himself away from the table and towards his office, “My not-boyfriend will be staying at the mansion for a couple of weeks, so try to not be...yourselves," he calls over his shoulder.

 

Hank laughs so hard his hair starts to turn blue.

 

* * *

 

 Charles can still hear the sounds of Alex, Armando and Hank conversing in the kitchen and it brings a smile to his face. The mansion has been too empty for far too long and rectifying that travesty, no matter how slightly, is a step in the right direction. He stares at the telephone for a moment, and then looks at the clock, and contemplates calling William back. It should be a proper time to be awake in Costa Rica soon, but he wants to give William time to sleep after having been up so late the night before.

 

When he finally decides to dial, a small voice picks up on the third ring with a "Hullo?"

 

"Hello," Charles answers, "my name is Charles Xavier, to whom might I be speaking?"

 

"My name is Jason," Jason Stryker says softly, "but if you're wishing to speak with my Daddy I'll have to take a message, because he's still sleeping,"

 

Charles smiles at Jason's polite, yet direct, nature.

 

"Oh no, that's quite alright," he says, "I was actually hoping to speak with you,"

 


	5. They said I'd gone south, said I'd gone asunder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the X-men First Kink Meme prompt: Charles Xavier/William Stryker, raising Jason together.
> 
> Thank you to everybody who's been reading and reviewing! :D
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

The day Jason Tiresias Stryker comes into the world William Stryker is fifteen years old. Before Lisa, the neonate nurse, placed Jason in Stryker’s arms he had never held a baby before. It was five in the morning, still dark outside, when Jason first gazed up at his father, a curious look in his--even then--mismatched eyes. William had just finished his third year of college a month before and had spent the time since memorizing the latest edition of Dr. Spock’s, painting and rearranging his bedroom, and asking his parenting class instructor any and all questions his young trepidatious mind could come up with. He had even asked his mother what it was like when she brought him home from the hospital, a little over a decade and a half ago. All she would say was he had been an “easy baby” or, at least, the nannies had always said he was a joy. His father had nothing to add on the subject besides “a man must take responsibility for his actions”. It would take more than a decade for William to appreciate the true irony of those words.

 

His father has always been a distant man. He loves William undoubtedly, but not unconditionally, and sometimes (most of the time) it seems that he loves _what_ William is more than _who_ he is.  And William knows what he is; the perfect son, the Boy Scout, the eleven-year-old high school graduate. The ideal conversation piece, an easy topic to brag about at cocktail parties; _Oh, your son made forward on the Varsity soccer team? That’s nice; William was just hired as a junior researcher in one of labs at Langley for the summer._ When you’re fifteen and the youngest person on your research team everyone knows who your father is. When you’re fifteen and the only teen parent in your up-scale neighborhood everyone knows who your father is.William Stryker Sr. is not an immensely forgiving man. He is a serious man, a respected man, and no amount of straight A’s, Boy Scout badges, or unwavering devotion to Jason, can truly atone William in his eyes.

 

It’s early in the evening when William and his mother return from the hospital, Jason snug in his carrier. William had watched his son’s eyes slip shut as they passed over the bay bridge, lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the car. No amount of reading or parenting classes could have aptly prepared him for the sense of sheer _elation_ he feels every time he looks at Jason. William has lived fifteen years of experience, stilted luxury and expectation, but has never felt joy in it's purest form until he held Jason for the first time. This shade of happiness is unfamiliar in it's perfection; his whole life he has strove for perfection in exchange for his father's happiness, only to discover that his own son brings him happiness simply by existing. It's a mystifying revelation that hurts his head if he thinks on it too long.

 

William is at the foot of the main staircase when he sees the light on at the end of the hall.

 

“Sir,” William says, standing in the foyer outside his father's study,  “I wondered if you’d like to meet your grandson,” and he looks not at his father's face, but at Jason wriggling in his sleep, one of his little feet worming its way out of the delivery blanket William had tucked in around him before they left the hospital. Jason sleeps, safe and loved, completely contented, with no regard for the fact that he rests at the center of a family conflict.

 

William Stryker Sr. looks over the top of his paper sharply, betraying his previously feigned apathy. He's been pretending to read the stock reports since his wife pulled into the driveway twenty minutes ago. He's been pretending to be occupied by more pressing matters since William left for the hospital the night before.

 

"Come in," he says, folding the unread newspaper and setting it aside. His son, his beautiful and brilliant but defiant son, steps into the room, a sleeping infant settled in the carrier in his left hand. William Sr. studies the child, his  _child's_ child, and wonders pragmatically if the boy is really worth all the trouble and the scandal he's caused the past couple of months. He only has to look at his son's face to know the answer, but he still clings to judgement and distance out of comfort of habit. _  
_

 

"This must be Jason," William Sr. states, and his voice holds more emotion than is strictly becoming of a CIA official. His son searches his face, trying to discern his reaction, and nods.

 

“Yes, Sir,” he says, setting the carrier on the coffee table before his father. He crouches beside the baby and fusses over Jason's hat, pulling it down until it covers the tips of his son's tiny, yet prominent, ears. Side by side William can see how much his son and the baby look alike, how much their facial features favor each other. How much Jason unwittingly reminds him of William Jr. when they brought him home from the hospital a decade and a half ago. His resolve starts to fade in the presence of tangible proof.

 

“Very well then,” he says, as if ultimately deciding, or accepting, something. “What middle name did you inflict on him?” he asks.

 

Jason opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, as if to have his due in the conversation, and William glances at the clock, making a note to feed Jason as soon as they're settled upstairs.

 

“Tiresias,” William says, finally meeting his father's gaze.

 

"The blind prophet?" William Sr. asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically. 

 

William smiles, "The _wise_ prophet," he adds gently, "I wasn't set on a middle name, but then I saw his eyes, and thought it was fitting,"

 

The first thing that comes to William Sr.'s mind is  _Tiresias was a_ _clairvoyant_. He doesn't say,  _do you really want to name your son after a mutant_ ,because Jason chooses that moment to open his eyes and fix his grandfather with a piercing stare.

 

Instead he says, "It fits him perfectly," and William beams at him.

 

William turns away to tend to Jason, and William Sr. sighs to himself, torn between pride and dismay. He knows he has to come to terms with being a grandfather, but the small, often well-hidden, sentimental part of him has trouble reconciling the child he's known his son to be, with the responsible and impressive young man he's turned into these months past.

 

"Is everything alright, Father?" William asks, pausing for a moment on his way out the door. For a moment he's twelve and wants nothing more than his father's approval. For a moment William Sr. looks at him and sees the little boy he should be, not the father he's become.

 

"No, everything's fine, Son," William Sr. answers. His son nods goodnight and leaves. It's the longest conversation they've had in months. William hears his son talking softly to Jason as they climb the stairs, and he pretends it doesn't break his heart.

 

* * *

 

 

Ten years later William Stryker wakes up in a Costa Rican villa to the sound of his son chattering happily on the phone. His head is splitting in a post-panic-attack hangover of sorts, but he sits up anyway. He knows the person on the other end of the line must be Charles, and by the cheerful conversation taking place he can tell that the two are getting along famously. Charles had said he had experience with children, what with running the school and all, but William doubted he had much experience with young, hyperactive, and loquacious children that had as many words to say before ten a.m. as Jason always did. William shades his eyes from the bright sun coming in the living room's huge slatted windows and walks past in search of some Advil for his head. Jason waves at him enthusiastically from where he's seated on the over-stuffed ottoman, house phone tucked under his chin, still in his plaid pajamas. William waves back before swallowing three ibuprofen dry and pouring a cup of water.

 

"Everything alright, Daddy?" Jason asks, holding one hand over the mouthpiece of the phone just like William taught him.

 

"Never better, kiddo," William says with a smile, and it's true. Once the pills kick in he feels a hundred times better than he did the night before. And it's not like he'd let a little thing like photo-sensitivity slow him down anyway, especially on Jason's birthday.

 

After Jason bids the Professor good-bye and hangs up the phone, William hands him a cup of tea and asks, "What does the birthday boy want to do today?"

 

Jason hums thoughtfully and thinks for a moment before saying, "I want to go hiking in the jungle! And see the waterfalls!" excitedly.

 

"Alrighty," William says with a laugh, "Waterfalls, it is!" It doesn't surprise him that Jason picked such a quiet and isolated activity for his birthday. Jason often has interests that are somewhat unusual for his age-group. William knows by now to expect the unexpected with him.

 

Like now, when Jason pauses him in the middle of laying out an outfit for the day, with "What did you do on my birthday before you had me?"

 

"What do you mean?" William says, laying a set of Jason's knee socks on a pair of tan hiking shorts, "You mean, before you were born?"

 

Jason nods seriously and William thinks back to college and soccer practice and his parents' quiet house. He remembers reading books and jumping in his friends' backyard pools, but it seems hard to recall Julys before they had significance. He tries to remember the seventh of July of his fourteenth year, but finds it fades into the memory of holding Jason for the first time. His memories from before Jason, even his good ones, pale in comparison to memories of life with his son. Jason gave his life color, and as far as his vivid memory is concerned, he started counting time when Jason arrived. He's had Jason for two-fifths of his life, but thinking back on it it's hard to imagine what it was like to be without him.

 

"Before you Jason?" William says, ruffling his son's hair and kissing him on top of his head, "It doesn't bare remembering."

 


End file.
